


Seven Seconds

by geckoholic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 13:23:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Werewolves. You've had approximately seven seconds to dwell on that one before Melissa started to get hysterical, yelled at you through the phone to get your ass to that warehouse.</em> - Sheriff POV, set vaguely in S3. Somewhat jossed (jeffed?) by now, since it was written several weeks ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Seconds

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by chiiyo86 and dotfic. Many thanks to both of you! ♥ All remaining mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Title is from "Seven Seconds" by Youssou N'dour.

It's not easy, being a parent. Having a son who's smart, way too independent for your liking, and has a bit of a savior complex doesn't make it any more of a walk in the park. 

The first time Stiles picked up an injured bird in the back yard and took it inside to nurse it back to health, you thought it was adorable. You were proud, mentally patted yourself and your wife on the back for raising a compassionate child. As a pre-schooler, he only ever got into fights for other people. Not for everyone, mind, but he would give an arm and a leg for the people he cares about. He's the kind of kid that befriends the new guy in class without hesitation while others are still busy seizing him up and deciding if it'd be a burden or an asset to them; that's how he met Scott. Sometimes he's stupid with it, takes on people he can't defeat, can't see the line, doesn't back down when he should. He's your son and you love him, even though you know he's got his faults. But he's a good person. He gives more than he takes. 

You could never have imagined how much trouble that would get him into. 

Werewolves. You've had approximately seven seconds to dwell on that one before Melissa started to get hysterical, yelled at you through the phone to get your ass to that warehouse. _The kids, they've got the kids_ , she said. She had promised not to tell you, Scott had made her, but _our boys, please, our babies, you have to do something_. 

Isaac, the kid with the violent dad that got killed a few months back, is waiting in front of the warehouse when you get there. He looks stricken, and he's fidgeting. His eyes dart to a thin line of black powder that stretches around the building for as far as you can see. You only catch about half of what he says, understand even less, but it seems that's what is keeping him from going inside. _Someone human. I can't help, I'm not –_ he whispers and looks away, like he's embarrassed. 

You don't reply to him, crane your head to peek through the frosted windows of the large door you're standing in front of and get a look inside. At first you can't see what's wrong; there's Stiles, and Scott, Derek Hale, and a bunch of other faces you don't recognize. But then you you notice the kids and Derek are tied up. Derek seems to be unconscious, and someone else is there with them, restrained too. It's Scott's boss from the animal clinic, you think, and the whole thing is making less and less sense by the second. Your gaze goes to the others, their captors. Melissa said they're wolves, like Scott – you still can't wrap your head around that – but they look human, normal, until one of them turns his head vaguely your way and you notice his the color of his eyes, a dark, glowing red. 

Years and years in the police force, several of them as sheriff, did not prepare you for seeing your only child in peril. You're glued to the spot for endless seconds, staring, your heart beating painfully in your chest. The sound of a fist hitting flesh gets you out of your state of shock, although it takes your mind a moment to connect what you hear and what you see. It's Scott who's getting a fist to his face, and you feel a ping of shame for being relieved, right before it happens again. There's a sneer, Scott's face... changing, shifting, becoming foreign and wild, and you can relate, you would go berserk too if you could, because this time it _is_ your son who’s getting beaten. They stop after one hit, Stiles presses a hand to the side of his face but he's mouthing off, calling them names; it can't be that bad. It's okay. You'll get in there in a minute, you'll save him. You will. 

That's when worry and shock give way to training and experience, and the father turns back into the professional. You count five opponents, but that's okay. You took on more than that and went out unharmed before, you'll get it done. Then you duck, resisting the urge to keep your eyes on the scene inside in favor of finding a way in. Careful and slow, you pull down the big, rusty door handle, but stop when it creaks. Going in that way isn't an option you'd consider; you might as well announce your presence with a neon sign and a horn. No, the only advantage you have right now is the moment of surprise, the fact that they don't know you're here, and you're not quite willing to give that up just yet. 

You turn around to Isaac, ask him in a whispered voice if he's seen any other entrances. He nods, points around back, and starts in that direction. The door he leads you to is small, probably an old supply entry or something, and it's in a better position too. You won't barge into the middle of things, you'll be able to go in from behind. You briefly worry about how you're supposed to put down a werewolf, if you even can, when you remember that you have one at your side. Your eyes fall to the black powder, and you break the line with your foot. Isaac catches that, motions for you to keep smudging it until there's enough space for him to slip through. 

Taking a deep breath, you lay a finger to your lips – unnecessary, Isaac has been quiet and careful since you got here, but it makes you feel better – motioning what you hope will make him realize you'll go in first, then you point at the door and raise your hand to count down from five with your fingers. He shakes his head; signals back that he wants to be the first to break through the door. Every instinct you have rebels against letting a kid of sixteen take the lead, make himself the first target the enemy will see. But you know he's the same thing they are. He's better equipped to fight the other creatures. It would be stupid not to use that. And you can't be stupid. _They have your son._

There's no window in this door, so you can't know what exactly you'll run into. You do the countdown with one hand, gun raised, until you reach zero and grasp the gun with both hands. 

Isaac growls as he tears into one of them, and you learn that while bullets might not kill a werewolf, they sure put them down for a moment. Once you realize that, it's over fast. You put them down, head shot, no playing games with your son at stake, and Isaac keeps them occupied when they come back around. You reload your gun when it's all done for the moment, the five of them on the floor, out for the count but healing, and shove it at Isaac. You tell him to just pump more bullets into them when they wake up, and then you walk over to your son almost on autopilot. His lip is bleeding, a thin line of blood running halfway down to his chin, and there are bruises forming on his face that are red now and will be colorful come morning. Other than that, he seems fine, raises his head and says your name when you approach him. He exchanges a quick look with Scott, nervous, and you smile, squeeze his shoulder before you bend down to untie him. 

The two of you will have a long conversation about honesty and secrets and stupid teenage loyalties soon, but for now you can't be angry. You can't be disappointed, you can't even be worried. 

Your son's alive, and you'll keep him safe. There's nothing more important than that.


End file.
